The Valley of the Gods

  The Valley of the Gods

  Book 3 of the

  GODSBLOOD TRILOGY

  By Phil Tucker

  © 2019 Phil Tucker

  Cover art by Andreas Zafeiratos

  All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Acharsis watched morosely as the celebrations escalated to ever more fantastic heights. The open courtyard was thronged with the nobility of Magan, the most elite of which were seated on sumptuous cushions along the perimeter beneath the covered walkway. Music spiraled into the air, played by dozens of musicians so that the proceedings took on a fevered cast, and everywhere slaves carried trays of refined delicacies. Endless delegations from the provinces of Magan were entering through the gate between the tapering towers at the end of the courtyard to present themselves and their gifts to Elu, and wherever Acharsis looked he saw the glint of gold, the luster of bronze, the gleam of silver and the glow of amber and lapis lazuli.

  Trying not to frown, Acharsis shifted his weight. He stood at the far back of the courtyard, shoulder against a great vermillion column, a golden cup of beer in hand. It was the last night before the royal court began its journey to the hinterlands to engage Irella’s forces in war. The final celebration, a quick gasp of protocol squeezed in between the exigencies of war.

  It was all wrong.

  Acharsis looked over to where Jarek lay propped up on one elbow on an ocean of cushions beside Kishtar, gleaming platters of food at their side, laughing and leaning into each other with enviable intimacy. No frowns there. Sisu was harder to find, but Acharsis spotted him in the shadows of the far columns by the front of the courtyard, where he’d cornered a young noblewoman and was lecturing her eagerly with great swoops of his hands that kept spilling his wine.

  Elu of course was impossible to miss. He sat straight-backed on a raised throne, clothed in luminous white robes edged in gold, gold about his neck, hanging thick on his wrists, gleaming seductively from his ornamental headpiece. Slaves fanned him with great feathers, while bare-chested guards stood impassively on either side of his dais, watching the delegates with suspicion. By Elu’s side stood Ahktena; a score of priests and other local nobles were arrayed behind him, and two lions lay at his feet, their chains of lustrous gold.

  Acharsis took a sip of his beer, merely enough to wet his lips. Elu was rapidly turning into Senacherib in truth. His son had spent the past week closeted with Ahktena and his generals, emerging only to cross the great river to commune with the lamassu and the high priests. Jarek and the others hadn’t complained, seeing the last few days as a welcome reprieve from their ordeals, but Acharsis had been unable to relax.

  It was all wrong.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Annara, appearing by his side. “A celebration in full swing, and Acharsis hiding in the shadows?” Her broad lips pulled into a smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Surely there’s still some beer left for you to quaff?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Acharsis, pushing off the column with his shoulder and staring into his cup. “Plenty of beer. A wonderful night. Colors. Pageantry. Live baboons, even. Those were from the delegation of Punt, or Lunt, or whatever. Though what they think Elu’s going to do with a dozen baboons is anyone’s guess.”

  “What’s wrong?” Annara stepped closer. She looked beautiful, dressed in an elegant gown of slate blue fringed with silver, her bare arms revealing her burgundy temple tattoos, her ebon hair pulled back from her face and flowing down over her shoulders. There was a scent to her - lilac, perhaps - and her lips were faintly rouged, her eyes lined with kohl in the manner of the Maganians.

  “You look stunning,” he said, turning to face her. “I mean, I’m worried about the future of the civilized world and our fates and so forth, but with you here? Suddenly I can’t remember why.”

  Annara smiled with the confidence of a woman who’d seen much of the world, taking the compliment in stride and making no attempt to deflect it. “Elu apprised me of his strategy this morning. I’m worried too, but his generals - especially Ossan - seem to know what they’re doing. Soldiers have been marching to the east all week. By the time Elu reaches the hinterlands he’ll be commanding a force over ten thousand strong.”

  “Yes, yes.” Acharsis didn’t know why he felt so irritable. He drained his goblet and nearly tossed it aside. Instead he placed it neatly on a passing tray. “It all sounds well in hand.”

  “So?” Annara quirked her head to one side. “Does it irk you that your son is the center of attention? That he’s the gloried pharaoh, and you are forced to stand in the shadows?”

  “No, of course not,” snapped Acharsis.

  “Mmmhmm,” said Annara. “Right.”

  Acharsis crossed his arms, still finding it awkward to do so with one hand missing, and leaned against the pillar once more. A new delegation was presenting itself, a cohort of priests and minor nobles pressing their brows to the paved ground while slaves opened chests and placed elephant tusks at Elu’s feet.

  “Look, we’ve accomplished what we set out to do,” said Acharsis. “And more. Elu is pharaoh. The forces of Magan will no doubt crush Irella’s dead, stymying her attempts at conquest. But then?”

  “But then what?” Annara smiled at a passing slave and took the proffered cup of wine. “What’s wrong with victory?”

  “It doesn’t lead us anywhere,” said Acharsis. “I’ve been trying to envision what comes next and there are no good alternatives.”

  “Ah,” said Annara. “You’re impatient. You want Irella deposed tomorrow.”

  “Yes, but that’s not it. Think. Magan destroys Irella’s army. Well and good. Then - what? We march a Maganian army across the Golden Steppe to invade the River Cities?”

  Annara sipped her wine. “That’s what Elu’s envisioning.”

  “Yes, I know. Jarek told me it’ll take at least a year to recover from this upcoming battle, assemble a fleet to ferry the army up the gulf, and then a miracle of logistics and provisioning to cross the Golden Steppe.”

  “Then it takes a year,” said Annara.

  “Have you ever witnessed an invasion, Annara? Irella will have created a second army, but this one will be of the living. Elu will have to defeat our own people in order to save them. Will have to lay siege to each city, destroying its defenses and massacring its defenders in order to liberate them. How much of the River Cities will be left by the time Irella concedes defeat?”

  Laughter erupted from Elu’s dais as one of his lions roared and lunged at a delegate, causing the man to trip and fall on his rear in his haste to get away.

  Annara bit her lower lip. “Such are the ways of the world, Acharsis. How else will Irella be deposed?”

  “I don’t know,” said Acharsis, “and that’s been eating me up all week. How else? If the nine gods yet lived, I know what I’d do. I would beseech Ekillos for advice, have him send me on a divine mission to fetch a relic that would solve our problems. But of course… that’s no longer possible.” He watched as Elu waved his scepter, and the delegates, their offerings found acceptable, bowed low once more and retreated. “And what’s more, who’s to say Elu won’t find the River Cities to his liking, and insist on making them part of the Maganian Empire? Jarek’s said there’s strong opposition from the generals to the altruistic nature of the current plans.”

  Annara stiffened. “Elu won’t betray us.”

  “Won’t he? Power changes men, Annara.” Acharsis spoke softly, watching his son. “Who is to say where Elu’s loyalties will lie by the time Irella is cast down? Never mind.” He waved his hand, forestalling her r
esponse. “Forget I said that part. Regardless, I’m ill at ease. Events are moving out of our control, and I don’t like where they’re headed.”

  Sisu approached, skirting the edges of the courtyard and ignoring all greetings till he finally reached their side. He turned to regard the proceedings and crossed his arms irritably. “Honestly? I’m disappointed. I thought Maganian girls might be a little more sensitive, a little more intellectually curious than those of Rekkidu.”

  Acharsis raised an eyebrow. Sisu’s misfortunes were a welcome relief from his own dour thoughts. “She didn’t appreciate your charms? I’m shocked.”

  “Spare me your dry wit, Acharsis.” Sisu scratched at the back of his neck. “You would think a Maganian would be interested in my perspective on their own religion. And not just idle speculation, either. I mean, I’ve experienced their religion in a way none of these fools have. But do you think she was impressed? I’d even have accepted her being struck dumb by wonder. No. ‘Heresy’ this, ‘stealing souls from the Fields of Contemplation’ that.” Sisu made a face. “Ridiculous.”

  “Sisu,” said Annara slowly. “Did you try to seduce her by talking about dead people again?”

  “Raising the dead,” said Sisu, refusing to meet her eyes. “That’s different. And she said her father was a high priest. You’d think she’d be interested.”

  “No, actually,” said Acharsis. “In my experience, talking about corpses is never the way to entice a young girl to bed. And listen - this part is important - if it ever does work? If she gets excited hearing about that kind of thing? Run the other way.”

  “Yes, laugh, laugh all you want,” said Sisu. “But I’m done with it all. They can keep their ridiculous netherworld. But mark my words. If I die out here? I will not rest easy in the gaze of Amubastis, the mother of all lamassu. Oh, no.” Sisu took a proffered cup and drank deep. “I’ll make it home to Nekuul. My soul will do whatever it takes to get to the real netherworld. That you can believe.”

  Acharsis froze. Sisu’s words were like a hammer striking a gong. “Can you do that?”

  “Do what?” Sisu was staring lugubriously at a beautiful servant girl. “Her?”

  “No. Cross from one netherworld to the next?”

  Sisu took another draught. “I’m Nekuul’s own damned grandson, aren’t I?”

  “Acharsis?” There was a warning note to Annara’s voice. “You’ve got that look you get.”

  “Cross the netherworld,” said Acharsis, excitement building up within him. “I’m the son of Ekillos. Jarek’s the son of Alok. Scythia’s blood runs in Kish’s veins.”

  Sisu frowned at Acharsis and then looked past him at Annara. “What’s he going on about? He sounds drunk, but he’s not slurring.”

  “We are the descendants of gods,” said Acharsis. “Except for you, of course, Annara. No offense. But the rest of us. If we could cross the netherworld to Nekuul’s domain…”

  “You’re forgetting an important detail,” said Sisu. “You have to die to enter the netherworld. There’s no coming back from that, no matter where you then choose to go.”

  “Do you?” Acharsis laughed and quaffed his beer in one pull, and this time he did throw the gold cup aside. “Are you so sure? What do you know, after all, about death and the netherworld? You’re only Nekuul’s grandson.”

  “He’s not drunk,” said Annara. “He’s just being ambushed very aggressively by senility.”

  “Wait, wait. It’s coming to me. A divine vision from Ekillos himself. Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean. A plan.” Acharsis pressed his fingers and stump to his brow and closed his eyes. “What was it I said, Annara? I would beseech Ekillos for his wisdom and guidance? But he can’t hear us, not while we reside in the land of the living. We have to go to him. We have to ask him in person.”

  “All right,” said Sisu. “This is becoming disturbing. I’m going to go see if that servant girl wants to talk about corpses.”

  “No,” said Acharsis. “Get Jarek and Kish over here. I want to propose a plan.”

  “I’m not sure any of us want to hear it,” said Annara. “Why don’t we leave this for tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow will be too late,” said Acharsis. “No. We have to discuss this tonight. Sisu? Can you bring them? We’ll be through the archway there and in a side room. Come find us.”

  “Are you serious?” Annara followed alongside Acharsis as he left the celebrations behind, moving into the palace. “The netherworld?”

  “Yes,” said Acharsis simply. “Be patient with my apparent insanity. Let’s wait for the others before you get your chance to laugh at me and ask Elu to lock me up in a cell for my own protection.”

  Shortly thereafter Jarek and Kish walked into the side chamber, Sisu trailing behind, still shaking his head. Kish had her armed looped through Jarek’s, and was still laughing about something, wiping at her eye with a finger even as she fought for solemnity.

  “So,” said Jarek, wry amusement in his eyes. “Sisu tells me you want us all to die or something?”

  “Not die,” said Acharsis. Urgency made him pace once more, Jarek and Kish’s levity serving only to underscore his own unease. “You’re going to have to tell Elu’s generals that you won’t be involved in the battle any longer. Nor you, Kish. We’re not going to waste any time. We’re going straight for Irella.”

  “Straight for Irella,” said Jarek. “That does sound suicidal. You’re going to have to give me information before I withdraw my offer to help fight the dead.”

  “We’ve been fighting merely to survive for so long now that we’ve forgotten how to think ahead. How to go beyond the next immediate goal so as to devise an endgame. Elu and his generals can fight Irella’s army. But we can’t wait a year for them to regather their strength and launch an invasion across the Golden Steppe. I won’t help Elu’s generals slaughter our people and burn our cities to the ground so as to defeat Irella.”

  “All right. Cut to the chase.” The humor in Jarek’s eyes had sluiced away. “What’s got you so excited you’ve foregone getting drunk?”

  “Sisu. He gave me the idea. A way to petition Ekillos and Alok directly for help, to ask for a means to defeat Irella without the need for an army.” Acharsis forced himself to stand still. He gazed from each of his friends to the other. “We ask the lamassu to ferry us to the Maganian netherworld. From there we journey to Nekuul’s domain, at whose border we leave you, Jarek, so as to avoid fulfilling her prophecy. We find the fallen gods, and ask them directly what we must do.”

  Jarek’s head snapped back as if he’d been clipped in the chin. “Journey through the Maganian netherworld?”

  “Think!” Acharsis began to pace once more. “How did we deal with the Athites when we saw defeat was inevitable? We each ascended to the peaks of our ziggurats and did offer up flesh from the thighs of oxen and other pleasing gifts to provoke our fathers and mothers into speech. We sought their advice, and they did give it, telling us how to turn the tide that threatened to drown us all. Were they alive, we would be doing the same, but we can’t. Yet if we can’t bring the gods to us, we must go to them, and yes, it sounds fanciful, ridiculous even, until you remember that divine blood runs through our veins; that we have one foot in the heavens and the other in the netherworld; that we are as much magic and light and power as we are flesh and blood, and if ever there was a group who could sojourn across the lands of the dead and hope to emerge victorious, that group stands before me.”

  Nobody spoke. Instead they exchanged glances, hesitant before Acharsis’ passion. Finally, Sisu shook his head. “Your whole plan depends on the lamassu being willing to carry us into their netherworld. Even if they could, why would they? We’re foreigners. It would be a form of heresy.”

  “Elu can convince the lamassu,” said Acharsis. “He’s spent half the week in the god’s presence, communing with him, learning the mystical ways from the priests. He’s connected to the Maganian gods now. If we can convince Elu, then I’m sure he c
an convince the lamassu.”

  “I don’t know,” said Jarek.

  “This is how we phrase our request: sending us to the netherworld will save Magan a year of preparations and then a decade more of war - all to accomplish the independence of the River Cities. Elu will be rid of us and all the strife and conflict the invasion would engender amongst his generals and nobles who won’t understand his desire to give up the River Cities to us after fighting so hard and long for them.”

  “Perhaps,” said Jarek. “But Acharsis, you’ve never visited the netherworld. I have. You don’t know what you’re suggesting. The nature of the trials we’ll face.”

  “Don’t forget, I am the son of Ekillos, the god of all knowledge. I was the head apsu once, and mine was all the wisdom of the known world.” Acharsis hesitated. “Granted, most of that left me when Ekillos died, but I’ve enough to guide us where we wish to go.”

  Annara frowned. “You said your prayers and spells no longer had any power.”

  “They don’t. Ekillos does not enforce them. But we won’t cross the netherworld with fire and sword, hammer and offensive spell. We’ll use subterfuge instead. We’ll avoid trouble, and that is something I excel at doing.”

  Eyebrows raised as everyone stared at him.

  “What? I can avoid trouble if I wish.”

  Kish laughed. “Like how you avoided the Maganian guards the moment we stepped off the boat?”

  “Look how that turned out to our advantage,” said Acharsis.

  “I won’t go with you,” said Annara. “I can’t. I’m not godsblooded. Besides, my place is by Elu’s side. To help him remain strong and true to himself.”

  “I - yes.” Acharsis felt his excitement abate. There was no arguing Annara’s words. And yet. He studied her, resplendent in her gown, beautiful as the rising moon, striking and strong and the cause of his lost longings. “I know. But I - I mean, we’ll come back, after all is done. I will see you again.”